


Your Cooking Isn't Bland, I Just Have No Taste

by Hino



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: It's a bit gay, M/M, They're going on a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:12:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: Hedwyn has invited Tariq to a picnic.Tariq, being unable to taste food or understand Nomad customs, agrees to be polite.What can go wrong?





	Your Cooking Isn't Bland, I Just Have No Taste

Tariq didn’t function like other mortal folk. He had no need for food or sleep or water, although they made his life just a little bit more comfortable. In fact, he could live without any form of sustenance, air included, with only mild discomfort.

This is why he found it so important to partake in meals with the Nightwings. Whenever Hedwyn was busy preparing something, the Minstrel took time out to remind himself of proper meal etiquette; how to compliment the food, how it was supposed to taste, and other little intricacies. Being the Herald of the Moon, made from the Stars themselves, he was not well versed in the whole matter of being human. Things like flavour had not graced his senses, and although he could sense hot or cold, he could not understand spice, or sweetness. It meant much of what he said to Hedwyn was built off the reactions of others, but either Hedwyn was flattered by the fact Tariq tried to describe his food and had not called him out, or he had not caught on yet.

 

It seemed though, as if the Scribes themselves were taking joy in watching Tariq struggle to explain the culinary experience, for Hedwyn had approached the Minstrel as he was tuning his lute, bearing a picnic basket and a smile.

“Good afternoon, Tariq. I hope you’re not busy,” Hedwyn began, trying not to fidget too much with the small ribbon that was tied to the handle of the basket.

Tariq looked up from the tuning pegs, eyes closed but still seeing. “I’m not, Hedwyn sir. May I help you at all?”

Hedwyn brandished the picnic basket, although Tariq gave no reaction. “The weather today is rather lovely, and I’ve heard that Wakingwood has some good places to sit and relax, so...”

The Minstrel tilted his head slightly. “Aye, there are several places among the trees where one can eat their meal in peace. Are you perhaps looking for a recommendation?”

Awkwardly, the Nomad shifted. “I was actually wondering if you would accompany me.”

 

A heavy silence weighed over the two of them. Hedwyn stood, waiting for Tariq to give a response, while the Minstrel tried to process what had been asked of him. Hedwyn wanted to take him out for lunch. A lunch with just them. There would be nobody to take queues from. Nobody to give hints on the meal, or what they were doing, or how to respond. It made the Minstrel lock up, and he opened his mouth, fumbling for words.

“Um, sir, I think... Perhaps that... Maybe...” Tariq was stumbling, and with each phrase, he could see the little lines of desperation in Hedwyn’s brow. He didn’t want to turn the Nomad down, but he didn’t want to offend him. Coming out as having lied about all their meals and his experiences up until this point seemed far more painful than politely declining a lunch. “I think I’d love to... have lunch with you.”

Hedwyn’s face brightened, all little signs of concern vanishing. It made the Minstrel feel at ease, seeing the man react so well. “Let me give you time to get ready.” He rushed off, leaving Tariq mildly stunned at what had transpired.

“By the Scribes, what have I agreed to?” Tariq mumbled to himself, giving the tuning peg a turn.

 

By the time Hedwyn had returned, he was in entirely different clothes. Instead of his usual attire, he was just wearing his white shirt and pants, coupled with his red cloak. All the other little bags and trinkets he usually wore were absent, and it seemed strange to the Minstrel to see him without. 

Hedwyn paused as he re-entered the room, for the Minstrel had changed his outfit too. Instead of his usual, more formal attire, he was in a simple dress shirt, which tucked into some off-grey pants. They looked strange, but it somehow suited him. He’d tied his hair back into a ponytail, but kept his hat, leaving him different but the same. “Wow.”

“Does my appearance surprise you, Sir?” Tariq turned to Hedwyn, somehow taking in his appearance through closed eyes. “I must say that your clothing looks rather nice.”

“T-Thanks,” Hedwyn stuttered, grabbing the picnic basket. “And yes, I’m not quite used to seeing you without the cloak.”

Tariq laughed, and Hedwyn tried not to blush. “I very rarely remove it, you see. Ah!” Tariq quickly grabbed his lute and slung it onto his back. “If I may?”

Hedwyn nodded. “Of course. Should we get going?” He gestured to the door and Tariq led the way, stepping into the green trees of Wakingwood. He waited for Hedwyn to close the Blackwagon’s door and catch up before moving on ahead, guiding the Nomad through the everchanging trees.

 

Tariq walked onwards like someone who knew these woods like the back of his hand, but every time Hedwyn thought he’d lost the Minstrel, he’d find him waiting, waiting patiently for him to catch up. “Could we perhaps walk a little slower?”

“The woods are prone to change. I would like to walk slower, but I am afraid if we do not pick up our pace, we will not get to the perfect place to share our picnic.” Tariq offered Hedwyn a smile and the Nomad walked a little quicker, trying to subtly slide his hand into the Minstrel’s waiting grip. His warm hand slipped into Tariq’s colder one, and Hedwyn was so overwhelmed with the shock of succeeding in his not-so-smooth endeavour that he didn’t notice Tariq tense up and squeeze his hand in response. “Let me... Let me lead the way, Sir.”

The grip on Hedwyn’s hand was tight but assuring as the Minstrel led him along. Hedwyn stumbled over tree roots and encroaching plants, but he managed to keep up with Tariq who walked like a man possessed. They took multiple twists and turns, and Hedwyn kept expecting to end up at the start of the woods where the Blackwagon was, except they never did, always in a new part of the forest.

 

There was no warning when Tariq stopped, leading to Hedwyn tripping over his own feet. He almost faceplanted into the ground, but the Minstrel caught him, helping him back up. “Apologies Sir.”

Hedwyn waved it away. “It’s fine,” he answered, still noticing how Tariq was holding onto his hand. He didn’t linger on that fact long, instead letting his gaze drift to the place they’d stopped in. It was lush and green, with hundreds of little flowers, all in bloom, dotted around. The sun shone in through the leaves above, casting little shadows onto the grass of the clearing. Overall, it was rather beautiful, and Hedwyn could only stare at it. “Wow...”

Tariq softly laughed, and it sounded strange. He was not one to laugh often, and Hedwyn almost felt disappointed when he stopped. “I had found this place once with Volfred, when we travelled together long ago. It is often hard to find, since the forest is quite keen on keeping it hidden.”

“Mm.” Hedwyn was trying to listen to Tariq’s explanation of the local flora, but he was just entranced by the beauty of the place, hand slipping out of the Minstrel’s own as he stepped forward. Tariq found himself surprised by his suddenly empty hand, and the afternoon air was cold on his skin, making him clench his fist. He watched Hedwyn enter the little glade, moving towards the flat stone in the center. The Nomad set down his basket and sat down, looking around at the beautiful scenery.

“It is quite lovely,” Tariq commented as he sat down opposite Hedwyn, letting the flat stone serve as a table. “I remember being quite enraptured by this place long ago.”

“You would be a fool not to,” Hedwyn replied, taking a few moments more to drink in the scenery before turning his attention to the picnic basket. He opened it and began to set out the food, catching Tariq off guard. This stuff was different from their regular meals. Instead of being hastily slapped onto a plate with only minimal presentation for the ravenous Nightwings, these meals were all prepared with care. Hedwyn placed a plate before Tariq, which held several finely sliced mushrooms, along with thin pieces of fish, topped with a garnish of Downside herbs that he’d most likely traded something to Bertrude for. It was pretty to look at, and as Hedwyn set the basket aside and unwrapped his own identical meal, Tariq felt the unease from earlier begin to resurface.

 

Hedwyn tucked into his meal with some chopsticks, and Tariq hesitantly picked his up from the little stone table, unwrapping his own meal. It all looked appetizing, but he honestly had no idea. Holding the chopsticks in a tight grip, he scooped up one of the fish slices, placing it in his mouth. It had no taste, merely feeling as if he’d placed something in his mouth, without any defining features. Tariq had no idea how to respond, and he cast his unseeing gaze around, trying to sense a reaction out of reflex.

“I spiced the fish up with some flamedust from the Bog Crones. It’s not too spicy, is it?” Hedwyn asked.

Tariq almost sighed in relief. “No, it is perfect.” He smiled, and took another bite, noting the reaction from the Nomad. It seemed as if he was trying to smile too, but the expression had not made its way across his lips in full. “Is something wrong?”

The question caught Hedwyn off-guard, but he shook his head, smile travelling a little further across his face, more genuine. “No. I was just thinking about what to cook tonight. I shouldn’t be thinking about this when we’re eating together.”

The Minstrel nodded. “Do not trouble yourself with such things. There is a time for that.” He placed another piece of fish in his mouth and made a conscious effort to hum in contentment. 

Hedwyn softly laughed, picking up some of the mushrooms and placing them in his mouth. “You’re right,” he agreed, reaching into the basket to pull out a bottle of liquor, accompanied by two cups. “There will be time to think about dinner later. Do you drink?” He gestured to the bottle that he’d set down.

 

This made Tariq pause for a multitude of reasons. One was that Tariq had never drank before. Nobody had ever taken the time to offer him any of the alcoholic beverages that made their rounds in the Downside. Another was that the Minstrel had no idea if he could taste the drink, much like with his food. The third reason was that, being of the Stars, he was unsure if the liquor would even affect him. It would feel strange to partake in this mortal tradition if he was not to become drunk through it.

“I would love to,” he said before he could stop himself, taking the cup from the little stone table and holding it out. Hedwyn poured some of the alcohol for the Minstrel and then for himself. Setting the bottle aside, he held up his cup, waiting for Tariq to reciprocate. “Like this?”

Hedwyn nodded. “To our lovely picnic,” he said, clinking their cups together.

“To our lovely picnic,” Tariq echoed, placing the cup to his lips and sipping. It burnt his tongue and he almost opened his eyes at the sensation. Hedwyn had already downed his cup and, in an attempt to feel cultured and understanding, he tipped his head back and drank the entire thing. “There is quite some bite to this.”

A laugh escaped the Nomad. “Pamitha picked it up for us. Said that she got it on special for Falcon Ron.” Tariq nodded and held his cup out again, letting Hedwyn fill it. “It has quite a nice flavour, doesn’t it? Balances out the burn.”

 

Tariq could not taste the flavour, but he agreed anyway for simplicity. The second cup was slammed back fast, like Hedwyn had done, and it was when the Minstrel went to return to his meal that he noticed a slight blurring on everything.

“Hedwyn sir,” he began, placing a few pieces of mushroom in his mouth and chewing before continuing. “Sir, did you know, that you are rather close in resemblance to Gol Golathanian?”

The fact made Hedwyn stop, food halfway to his mouth. “I do?” he asked, setting it back down on the plate. As he looked across at Tariq, he could see the blush rising on the man’s cheeks, brought on by alcohol. “Um, Tariq, are you drunk?”

Hearing the words made Tariq tilt his head, causing his whole body to lean to the side. “Not at all, Sir, I just think that you’re handsome like Gol and I like that.” He was smiling, and as Hedwyn leant over the makeshift table to straighten the Minstrel up, he was pulled in, lips meeting Tariq’s in a sloppy kiss.

The Minstrel’s lips tasted like stardust and vanilla, and before Hedwyn could even register the action, let alone respond to it, Tariq had pulled away, leaning his chin in his hand and picking at his plate. “You kiss very nicely, Sir.”

“I-” Hedwyn’s mouth opened and closed, trying to speak but finding himself without words. He fell back down into where he’d been sitting, dazed and confused. “You kissed me.”

“I kissed you,” Tariq answered. “You taste like-” The Minstrel stopped. “You have a taste.”

Hedwyn raised an eyebrow. “Everything has a taste?”

“Your food doesn’t.”

 

There was a moment of silence between them before Tariq realized what he’d said. He covered his mouth, and coherent thought pushed through his alcoholic fog. “I’m sorry Sir, I-”

Hedwyn laughed, cutting Tariq off. “You- I knew it! Oh man, Jodi owes me twenty Sol! I told her you couldn’t taste it!”

“Were you aware that I could not taste your cooking?” Tariq asked. It took him some time to get it all out, and he stumbled over his words, but he succeeded. “I thought I was hiding it well.”

“I put some hot spices on your meal once, and you didn’t react.” Hedwyn was smiling, and it made Tariq’s non-existent heart flutter. “From there, I must admit I took a few liberties with your meals.”

Tariq sighed gently, feeling his face warm up. “You’re clever, Sir.”

Hedwyn laughed. “Thank you, Tariq.”

The Minstrel got to his feet, smiling as he moved around the makeshift table to sit beside Hedwyn. The Nomad looked at him for a moment, unsure, before slowly leaning in. Tariq copied, and his lips met Hedwyn’s softly, with more grace this time. It was nice, gentle, and Hedwyn let his hands roam, one cupping the back of Tariq’s head, while the other settled on his waist. Tariq was slow to settle his hands on Hedwyn, eventually letting them both rest on his shoulders, so he could push or pull him away, depending on what he needed.

Hedwyn tasted sweet, and Tariq made sure that he remembered it, for it was new to him, and he longed to commit it to memory. He tasted like the Downside; sweet like Wakingwood’s berries, tangy like the Jomuer Valley air, salted like the Sea of Solis. It was a blend of everything Tariq had known but not yet experienced, merely inferred from the responses of others. 

The last time Tariq had tasted something, he’d been with the Scribes, among the Stars. In all his years, he had not known the flavour of the Downside, and as Hedwyn opened his mouth and permitted Tariq to explore, he found himself learning the taste of the world.

 

It had started to grow dark when the two had untangled from eachother. The sun was setting, and tonight would be a Rite, all the more reason to pack up. “I apologize for that,” Tariq said as he got to his feet, brushing off any dirt. His outfit was still as pure as the day Hedwyn had found him in the Blackwagon.

“No no,” Hedwyn got to his feet too, trying to make eye contact with the Minstrel. His eyes were aglow, and it was unsettling yet soothing to look into them. “I’m... Thank you, for that. I had wanted to...” He trailed off, but Tariq understood.

A soft laugh escaped the Minstrel’s lips as he quickly packed up their neglected meal. Hedwyn moved to help, placing all the things back in their picnic basket. As he slipped the bottle of liquor back in, Tariq took the Nomad’s hand, holding it. “We should return to the Blackwagon.”

“O-Of course,” Hedwyn replied, making sure everything was packed away. “Could we, maybe, do this again sometime?”

Tariq smiled, leading Hedwyn through a set of trees and straight to the Blackwagon without a problem. “It seems the forest smiles upon us.”

“It seems so.” Hedwyn squeezed the Minstrel’s hand and Tariq returned it as they head towards the wagon, ascending the few stairs and entering though the main door. Hedwyn had expected the Minstrel to let go of his hand as they entered, but as the door swung shut, he found Tariq’s grip still holding tightly to his.

 

“Since you are aware that I cannot taste your food, I would ask that you do not spice it, lest it be wasted.” Tariq said as they set the basket down.

Hedwyn laughed nervously. “I’d stopped spicing it properly months ago.”


End file.
